


Figuring It Out

by EvieSmallwood



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: (laughs at my overused joke), M/M, anyway it’s cute as fuck, bed sharing???, can you believe i’m back at it with the reddie fanfic, get ready, get reddie, its the ultimate trope, or should i say, two soft boys, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 06:51:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14563398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvieSmallwood/pseuds/EvieSmallwood
Summary: There’s nothing weird about Richie Tozier lying in his bed. The weirdest thing, somehow, is that Eddie isn’t lying next to him, yet.or: two bros lying in a bed, zero feet apart cuz they ARE gay





	Figuring It Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hannahberrie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahberrie/gifts).



> This is part one of Hannah’s gift (or part two if you count the moodboard I made). Hannah, happy belated birthday, my Beanarino. I hope you enjoy this ridiculously fluffy reddie fanfic that I’m posting way too late.

Moonlight spills through his parted curtains like luminescent liquid, almost hanging in the air—suspending the dust which floats visibly, only to be swirled with every light breeze.

Eddie rolls over. It’s so fucking _hot_ ; rushes of warm air, stifling him. He feels suffocated.

It had been his mother’s idea to leave the window open, given their AC unit had crapped out last week. _To let your room filter, Eddie-Bear_ , she’d said, before leaning down to pinch his cheek. God, he hated that. More than anything, though, he hates that he can’t even control this.

Still, maybe it is better. At least his room isn’t a hotbox—the whole fucking town of Derry is melting under the sudden heatwave. 

Eddie flops onto his side again, glaring at his wall. There’s not much to see; faded blue paint, an old baseball bat he hasn’t touched in months, discarded shoes, and his laundry hamper. It’s overflowing, which is unusual. Sonya’s normally on top of things like clean clothes. It makes her feel more _secure_ , less _worried_.

Again, he rolls over (because he can’t sleep, and he’s irritated, and he has no way of taking out his anger) to face the other wall instead. Eddie reaches out and picks at the chipped paint with a fingernail, grimacing when little flakes break away and land on his mattress. _Gross_.

Onto his back. He stares at his ceiling. It’s funny, the way shapes and faces are made in the stucco. It’s like they’re almost there, almost real, but you blink and suddenly you’re squinting and trying to find it again. Like they move, almost.

It’s then, flat on his back and trying to make out whatever unshapely shape his imagination has conjured up—sharp teeth, big mouth, large eyes—that he hears the creak.

He’s already spooked enough. _Fucking clown, fucking paint, fucking brain._ Eddie jumps, scrambling up in his bed so that he’s on his knees.

Another creak. Two more, and he’s about to rush for that bat.

Then Richie fucking Tozier ducks his head inside, followed by his whole unwelcome body, and his fucking shoes are squeaking against Eddie’s dresser and he’s fucking grinning like an asshole—

“Expecting me, Dr. K? Why, I haven’t made an appointment!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie hisses.

Richie bites his lip to keep from laughing. Small mercies. “Why, afraid I’ll wake your mom up? Nah, she’s too wiped after what I did to her.”

“You’re so disgusting.”

“By Jove, was that crude? Patricia says I must learn to mind my manners!”

“Richie, I swear to god, if you don’t shut your stupid hole I’m gonna duct tape your mouth closed.”

Rich smirks. “Kinky.”

That’s all it takes to get Eddie blushing. God, he’s _so_ annoying. “What are you doing here anyway?”

A small pause. Within it, for it seems almost infinite, Eddie has time to wonder just what the fuck brought his best friend here at three in the morning.

Then Richie shrugs. “I felt your call, dear heart. Knew you missed me.”

He plops down on the bed, kicking off his shoes. Eddie glares. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m sleeping,” Richie takes off his glasses, sets them on the nightstand, and lays down.

“What.”

“What?”

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

“You’re excused,” Richie winks (and it doesn’t, does _not_ , make Eddie’s stomach flip). “Lie down, Eds.”

“What the fuck.”

“You’re being rather noisy, you know.”

This Voice is new. It’s sounds like an awful impression of a suburban dad from the forties. Eddie concentrates hard on being irritated, because he can’t let himself laugh. That means Richie wins.

“You can’t just sneak into my house and sleep in my bed,” Eddie hisses, reaching for his pillow. “What about my mom?”

Maybe it’s telling that his first concern isn’t _hey, we’re two guys in a bed, isn’t this weird?_

It’s just Richie, right? Besides, it doesn’t feel weird. As a matter of fact, it’s like his presence has made the room just a little bit better, a little bit more bearable. A part of him, deep in the pit of his belly, is perfectly content with the addition of Richie. It’s almost like it always should’ve been this way, every night, all his life.

There’s nothing weird about Richie Tozier lying in his bed. The weirdest thing, somehow, is that Eddie isn’t lying next to him, yet.

“What about her?”

Eddie blinks. With the unexpected revelation, he’d almost forgotten his question. Mom, right.

“She usually checks up on me,” Eddie says.

“I’ll leave before she wakes up, no big deal,” Richie pats the spot beside him. “Chill out, Eds.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Only if you stop being so gosh darn cute!” He reaches out, pinching Eddie’s cheek, which only makes him blush even more.

“Stop calling me _that_ , too.”

“What, cute?” Richie grins. He’s sitting up now, hair falling into his eyes.

And really, Eddie shouldn’t notice, but he does. He notices Richie’s eyelashes—long and dark and... pretty. They shouldn’t be, but they are. His eyes are so warm, practically magnetising. Eddie feels almost stuck, sitting there like a fucking idiot, mooning.

That’s totally what he’s doing. He can’t even deny it. There’s no excuse, other than _god he has so many freckles on his nose why does that make him even cuter._

Cute.

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes. “Cute.”

Richie pokes his cheek. “If your face ever gets disfigured, maybe I’ll stop.”

“ _What?_ ”

“What?”

“Stop doing that!”

“Doing what?!”

“Acting confused when you’re the one that’s being confusing!”

Richie flops back down. He cocks his head, smirking. Why it makes Eddie’s heart skip a beat, seeing him like that (all childish and happy and stupid), he doesn’t know. “Am I confusing you?”

“This whole situation is ridiculous,” Eddie shakes his head, forcing himself to avert his eyes. “I’m definitely dreaming.”

“Does this happen a lot in your dreams, Eds?”

Eddie’s head whips back over. “If by dreams you mean nightmares.”

Richie winks again. “That’s cute.” 

His face is probably so red. God, this is so embarrassing. “Stop doing that.”

Rich props himself up on his bony elbows, raising an eyebrow. “Doing what?”

“You _know_ what.”

“Do I?”

They’re ridiculously close. Since when is Eddie leaning down?

“Richie.”

“Eddie,” Richie retorts, only his tone is different. It’s not exasperated, it’s... soft. It’s almost a whisper. Not even Sonya with her radar ears could hear it, or ruin it. Eddie’s name is a breath on Richie’s lips, and it’s the most fantastic sound he’s ever heard.

Richie smiles. Eddie can almost feel it, ghosting his own mouth. _Fuck_.

“Know what?”

A blink.

 _Flirting_.

“What?”

Richie laughs—Eddie’s favourite laugh, really; the kind where he throws his head back, making almost silent sounds.

Well, it would still be his favourite if there weren’t all this space between them now.

“Fuck you, Richie Tozier.”

Eddie gives him a shove, a good one, that has Richie falling back into the mattress. Then he yanks his blanket out from beneath them both, slips off his bed, and curls up on the floor with it.

There’s a silence. Eddie faces away, eyes closed. He tries to think of other things, of school or whatever the fuck.

A roll. Onto his side.

Eddie cracks an eye.

“Fuck!”

Richie seems absolutely delighted. Eddie covers his face with his hands, pressing his palms into his eyes. He really, really hadn’t expected Richie to come down here.

“Can we?”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Richie pokes his side, which makes Eddie yelp. “You know the whole point of this was so that we would be together.”

Eddie frowns. “What do you mean?”

The next words are spoken quietly; solemnly. “It’s been two years,” Richie says.

He sounds so strained. It’s like mentioning it takes a physical toll.

Eddie faces him, letting his arms fall. The next thing he knows their fingers are intertwined, and his heart is racing. This, these seconds, these breaths—the ones of now and all leading up to them—are important. Monumental.

“Richie,” Eddie reaches, touching his cheek. It’s new; it sends electricity from the tips of his fingers to his spine, making him shiver. “There’s no monsters under the bed, see?”

Richie looks.

His head is turned, his eyes are gleaming. Eddie leans up.

His lips touch Richie’s cheek. His skin is soft and warm. It sets Eddie on fire from the inside and flushes his own face on the outside.

“No monsters,” Eddie repeats.

Richie nods. He looks dazed. Gently, Eddie guides him up to the bed. Richie lies down, and then Eddie does—burrowed between a stupid idiot boy and the wall, feeling utterly safe.

Richie flips onto his stomach. “You’re kinda something, you know that, Eds?”

“Well, you’re obnoxious.”

“Oh, so that’s what you call it,” Richie shifts, so that his arm is resting on Eddie’s chest.

“What else would _you_ call it?”

“Flirting, dumbfuck.”

Richie flicks the side of his head. Eddie doesn’t even care. Why would he? He’s too busy feeling his heart explode.

Eddie grabs his shirt collar and pulls him the rest of the way—only an inch or so—and then they’re kissing.

Or, Eddie is kissing. Richie’s lips freeze against his own. It’s all Eddie can do to stop himself from having a full-on asthma attack right then, as he jerks away. “Sorry—”

“Shut the fuck up, Eddie.”

The second time is better; their lips move together, his eyes flutter closed. He gets lost in the sensation, feeling Richie’s hands on either side of his torso. Eddie melts into the mattress.

His fingers get lost in hair—dark, floppy curls that happen to be softer than he ever expected.

Not that he expected anything. He totally hasn’t wasted hours daydreaming about this very thing.

Definitely, definitely not.

Richie pulls back, smiling. Like, bigger than Eddie’s ever really seen. He presses his nose to Eddie’s. “Hi.”

“You’re dumb.”

“So are you,” Richie kisses the corner of his mouth (god, they’re both grinning like idiots). “I mean, god, it took you long enough Spaghetti-Man.”

“Took me long enough?”

Richie doesn’t even answer. He’s too busy pressing his lips to Eddie’s cheeks and forehead and nose—all over his face, all adoring and sweet. If this is what Eddie’s been missing out on...

“You’re an idiot, Richie.”

But he’s not. He’s fantastic. He’s still fantastic at six o clock in the morning, fifteen minutes before Sonya’s alarm goes off, hair all fucked up with his face flushed from sleep. He’s still fantastic when he leans over Eddie after rolling out of bed and kisses his forehead, slightly awkward, slightly nervous. He’s still fantastic when he nearly trips over his shoelaces on the way out.

But he’s better than fanstasic when he slides up to Eddie in the arcade that day, throwing his arm over Eddie’s shoulders like it’s no big deal and smiling pleasantly at Ben (who’s carelessly going on about whatever the fuck video game).

“Asshole,” Eddie says, wriggling out from under him.

Richie laughs. “Fuck you.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> They’re so cute sndjdkdnfn
> 
> Anyway @ hannah: up next! mileven!!!


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